April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

Beauty in all things-no, we cannot hope for that; but some place set apart for it.

Euclid Alone Has Looked on Beauty Bare.

Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year My soul is all but out of me-let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

l am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

I hate people but I love gatherings.

Time can make soft that iron wood.